


Maybe a Bird with a People Face or a Bear with Pants On

by makesomelove



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Hush Sound, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Professions, Alternate Universe, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-26
Updated: 2008-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesomelove/pseuds/makesomelove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon the milkman befriends Spencer the lonely drunk housewife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe a Bird with a People Face or a Bear with Pants On

The last house on Brendon's Monday route is normal enough. It's red brick with a fence and a gate, hedges under the windows, blue curtains hanging in them. The hedges look a bit unkempt, but they're there. It's stands on its own away from most of the other houses on the road. It starts out as a paved road, but ends up being a dirt road in front of the house and beyond, or probably it started out dirt and got paved as it went along, Brendon figures.

The inside of Brendon's truck is cold, even up front, like the refrigerated aisles at grocery stores. It's painted on either side with a cartoon cow somehow holding a glass of milk with its hoof and somehow giving a thumbs up with the other, the word "MILK!" painted underneath. He remembers being so disappointed by those types of trucks when he was a kid, thinking they were ice cream trucks, but he'd really thought that about every vaguely rectangular white vehicle, even the mail truck. He ponders maybe getting a luring tune to play as he drives through residential areas, 'Do Your Ears Hang Low?' is the obvious choice, but decides that's too cruel to do even while it would be hilarious.

Brendon parks his truck in front of the house and double checks his list. The normal thing to do is to probably just leave the milk on the customer's porch, but Brendon didn't want to do that this week. It's his first week, so he feels he should introduce himself to the people who answer their doors, and plus the weather is starting to turn hot. He doesn't want to leave the milk to curdle or whatever it does. Brendon grabs a case of milk jugs from the back and walks through the gate up to the door.

He knocks, and when there's no answer, he knocks again only louder and more times.

"Jesus Christ, did you lose your key again?" A voice calls from inside. Brendon hears a series of locks being unlocked and then a guy, no older than Brendon, opens the door. He's got a pretty decent beard growing and he's wearing sweat pants and no shirt. His pants are twisted sideways like he rolled around in them when he was in bed and they're hanging low so Brendon can see his whole belly. The guy is smiling, Brendon thinks he looks almost relieved, until he sees Brendon is not whoever he thought he was.

"Oh," the guy says, his happy face melting to nothing, "who the fuck are you?"

"I'm the new milkman," Brendon says. He holds up the case of milk jugs and jiggles it so the glass clinks, proving he's truly a milkman.

"What happened to the old milkman?" The guy's hand slips off the doorknob, but he tries to cover it up by crossing his arms, and continues, "I liked him. He never knocked on the door."

"He was very old," Brendon nods seriously. "He retired."

Jon actually moved to the city to become an actress. He said, "Brendon, I'm moving to the city to become an actress, do you want my job?" And while Brendon is pretty certain Jon is not actually trying to become an actress, he was happy to take the job.

"Are you Mr. Wentz?" Brendon asks, remembering the name on the list.

"One of them," the guy replies, raising his eyebrows like he thinks Brendon's going to make something of it. He seems either really tired or wasted. It's still pretty early in the day, about 2 o'clock, so Brendon assumes the former of him.

"Oh," Brendon says, and he smiles to let the guy know he's happy for anyone who's married, "which one?"

"Spencer," the guy says. He squints at Brendon, and then behind Brendon at the afternoon sun. The look on his face doesn't change for either of them like he's never seen or heard of milkmen or sunshine and he thinks them both the strangest things.

"So your name is Sp--" Brendon starts.

"Don't," Spencer interrupts, "say anything." He takes the milk from Brendon's hand and slams the door behind him when he goes back inside.

"Nice to meet you," Brendon says.

 

~*~

 

One day, the previous week's empty bottles aren't on the porch. Spencer is usually pretty good about leaving them out. Brendon hasn't seen Spencer in a while, hasn't knocked on the door since that first week. He gets the feeling Spencer isn't really into chatting with him. Brendon really needs to get all the empty bottles back, though, so he knocks.

Spencer answers after unlocking all the locks, apparently in a sweeter temper than before. "Hey, new milkman," he says. Brendon notices he's also wearing more clothing than the last time he saw him, a shirt and all.

"Hello, Spencer Wentz," Brendon says, tipping his hat at him. Spencer rolls his eyes. "I have a name too, but it's not nearly as fun to say as yours."

"No way."

"Brendon Urie," Brendon says. He shifts the case of milk from his right hand to under his left arm to shake Spencer's hand.

"Is there a reason you keep coming to my door, Brendon Urie?"

"Well, I need last week's empties," Brendon says.

"Ah," Spencer nods.

"I'll never come knocking at your door again if you'd just leave them on the porch for me all the time, if that's how you like it." He doesn't think he says this last part meanly.

"Right." Spencer turns back into the house but leaves the door open behind him, so Brendon follows him in.

"Jesus," Brendon breathes out. "How big is this TV?"

Spencer has the biggest TV Brendon has ever seen. Brendon has not watched TV in about a month, not since Jon moved out and took the TV with him. He fights back the urge to go the giant TV and make sweet, tender love to it.

"I dunno," Spencer says. He's in the kitchen, where all the appliances are stainless steel, like robots, and he has a _dishwasher_. There are also far more than just empty milk jugs on the counter and in the sink. Spencer is so wasted, or maybe not right now he's not, but he so was last week and probably is all the time. "Like 80 inches?"

Spencer brings the empty milk bottles to Brendon in their little carrying case and Brendon trades off the new milk without ever glancing away from the TV. He doesn't even know what's on, he just wants to press his face directly against it, even if it does make his eyesight worse. It'd be worth it.

"Do you," Spencer says, and then he stops.

"What?" Brendon finally turns to look at Spencer. He's focusing on Brendon's hat like it's the most engaging person he's ever met.

"Do you have to go anywhere after this?" Spencer asks.

Brendon would go home and take a long nap, because he woke up at 4 o'clock this morning, and then he'd go into town and buy groceries and make himself dinner, and then maybe he'd write a little bit, songs or letters or whatever. He'd call Jon, then his mom. He only sometimes has a cat -- he thinks it's a crack cat, one of those cats that are raised by crackheads so it always eats like, tuna laced with crack. He doesn't really have anywhere special to be and certainly nobody to be nowhere with.

"No," Brendon says, staring at the TV again. "Can I watch your big TV, Spencer Wentz?"

"Yeah, if you stop calling me by my full name," Spencer says. He walks over and sits in the corner of the couch. It's so huge it has to wrap around in an L-shape. It's black leather and it is beautiful and plush to Brendon. It will cradle him like a mother's bosom.

He flops down into the corner of the couch and says, "It's a deal, Spencer Wentz." Spencer sighs angrily. "What are we watching?" Brendon asks. He kicks his shoes off and sits Indian style.

"You can change it," Spencer says, shifting uncomfortably. He tosses the remote to Brendon and Brendon tries not to become emotional at the offer. It's been so long. He kind of wants to shove the remote down his pants, but resists.

"No," Brendon says. "What is this?"

" _General Hospital_." Spencer sighs and scrubs both of his hands over his face, then through his hair. "It's true what they say. You do become your mother."

"Is your mom addicted to soaps?"

"No," Spencer wails. He flops over onto his side so Brendon can only see the top of his head. "She has a _job_."

Brendon forsakes his corner and flops down on his side, too, so his head is next to Spencer's but they're both still facing the TV. He forgets sometimes how nice it is to just sit, or lie there in the fetal position, with someone and watch something with them. They stay like that for a bit until Brendon's spine starts to ache. He reaches his arms above his head to stretch until he hits Spencer's face and pulls them back.

"Spencer," Brendon says. He sits up and Spencer sits up with him. "Spencer, is that a happy beard or a sad beard you have?"

"What?" Spencer says, rubbing a hand over his chin as if he's only just realizing there's hair there.

"Is it a party beard or a beard of depression?"

"What the fuck?"

"A party beard is there because you want it, but a beard of depression is there because you don't care enough to shave."

"Oh," Spencer says.

"It looks good," Brendon says after a minute of Spencer not answering his question. Then, quickly, "Hey, I should get going."

"Yeah," Spencer says. He walks Brendon to the door and doesn't shut it until Brendon safely reaches his truck.

 

~*~

 

Brendon lives in a very tiny house. The kitchen, living room, and bedroom are the same room. He doesn't even have a storm door, but that part he likes. Two doors aren't that much more difficult to manage than one, but it's still nice. All that keeps him from the people he loves is one door, and all that separates him from the world is one door. He only has to swing one door on its hinges and he's in it, in all of it, whatever it may be. He likes to stand there and watch the rain, toes getting wet from his lack of awning to protect him. He leaves the door open all the time when he's home, so he can see everything. Tons of bugs get in the house, but he doesn't mind too much. Leaving his door open is how he got his crack cat, anyway.

He likes his one door very much.

 

~*~

 

Fridays bring Brendon to a house entirely hidden by a wall of pine trees. At first he hadn't been sure if anyone lived there, because it seemed like a place nobody would live in, and plus nobody'd answered the door the first time he was there, but there were empty bottles on the porch. Now there's a cute little blonde girl with no shoes or socks on out front splitting wood with a giant axe. The tallest guy Brendon has ever seen is carrying the wood she chops to a pile on the side of the house.

"Hello, Milkman Brendon," she calls out to him. She swings her axe with surprising force so it sticks in the chopping stump and waves him over.

"Hello," Brendon calls back. He doesn't know how she already knows Brendon's name, but he's not too worried, because this is a pretty small town. She probably heard it from a neighbor or someone.

"Hello, I'm Greta." Greta reaches up and twists her hair into a quick and loose braid to get it out of her face, but it falls out a few moments later. "Gabriella, come say hello!"

The tall guy comes over and Greta presents him like Vanna White presenting a new puzzle. "This is my husband, Gabe." Gabe stands behind Greta and braids her hair for her, tighter than her own braid, and uses a ponytail holder he has around his wrist to tie it. She tips her head backwards and puckers her lips, but he leans forward and kisses her forehead.

"Nice to meet you," Brendon says to both of them. Brendon wonders if they're really married, or if they're just saying that, because neither of them are wearing rings. Maybe they have something else, like wedding tattoos.

"Milkman Brendon, have you ever held your pee in for so long that when you finally go it feels almost like an orgasm?" Greta asks.

"Greta!" Gabe holds a hand to his chest. Brendon thinks he might be trying to hold it over his heart, but he's holding it over the wrong side. "Are you comparing the orgasms I give you to piss?"

"Gabriella," Greta gasps, holding her hand over her heart the correct way, "that would be insulting. I can't insult someone I've never met, that's rude."

Gabe claps his hands together once and laughs.

"I can't say that I have," Brendon says after a pause to take in this exchange.

"You really should try it sometime," Greta waves her hand and says it like she's recommending a recipe to him.

"I'm gonna get going," Brendon says, jerking his thumb behind him and backing away.

 

~*~

 

The next time Brendon goes to Spencer's house, Spencer is sitting outside on the porch.

"If you're a milkman," Spencer starts.

"There's no question about it, Spencer, I am a milkman," Brendon interrupts. He gestures down the length of his body, to his uniform and hat. He wears a uniform with a hat and delivers milk to people in a truck with a cow on it. That's pretty much the entire reason he took the job. He is definitely a milkman, and it is fucking hilarious.

"Do you deliver milk to yourself, or what?"

"No, no," Brendon says. "I go to the store to buy my milk like a normal person. Who the fuck gets their milk from a milkman?"

"Who the fuck, right?" Spencer says. He smiles, and Brendon thinks it's the first time he's actually seen it happen.

"Crazy people, Spencer, that's who the fuck." He sits down on the porch beside Spencer. "Let me tell you about Greta and Gabe."

 

~*~

 

Brendon starts stopping by Spencer's house even on days he doesn't deliver milk to Spencer. Spencer is a delightful person, even if, or sometimes especially when he's drunk, plus he has the gigantic TV and _central air_.

"Spencer, you are a kept man," Brendon points out one day when they're on the couch watching _Family Guy_ reruns they've both seen almost literally a million times. He's learned Spencer isn't that touchy a person. He doesn't tell a lot on his own, but Brendon can say or ask pretty much anything and Spencer will respond bluntly and shamelessly. Brendon is the exact opposite, he's very modest, so it's a little strange but refreshing to talk to Spencer.

"Tell me about it," Spencer sighs.

"How'd you guys meet?" Brendon tries not to pry, but he wants to know. He doesn't want Spencer to think he's being nosy or judgmental or anything. He's just curious of Spencer.

"My friend Ryan knew him," Spencer says. Brendon fills in the blanks himself for the rest of the story: "We were both pretty broken up after Ryan left," they were fucked up, "and we took care of each other," and they fucked a lot, "and then we decided to get married," so Spencer could be kept. "Now here I am," because Pete is never here. "Pete works a lot, has to go out of town all the time," Spencer finishes, filling in that blank himself.

Brendon is surprised that he doesn't want to know as much about this as he previously thought, so he asks, "Where did Ryan leave to?"

"He went to France to study mime." Brendon laughs at this, but Spencer puts his palms up and says, "I swear to God."

"You mean like," Brendon puts his hands out flat in front of him and pretends he's trapped in a glass case or whatever mimes do.

Spencer shakes his head. "I guess he and his boyfriend do some sort of homoerotic mime act together. I'm not really sure, but he says the French love it." He reaches over and picks up an unframed picture propped up against the table lamp and scoots over closer to Brendon. He looks sad when he looks at the photo. "This is Ryan," he points to a skinny guy with his face painted up like a typical mime's, wearing no shirt under his suspenders, "and this is his boyfriend Ronon," he points to the other guy, a huge man with dreadlocks and a beret.

"Wow," Brendon says. "Do they eat like, fucking baguettes under the Eiffel Tower all day?"

"That's stereotypical," Spencer says. He still smiles at it.

"I bet his boyfriend's name is pronounced like, Ro- _non_ ," Brendon says. He puts on a terrible, snotty French accent and flares his nostrils and curls his lip up to talk. "Bonjour, Ryan, I brought you a croissant and a moustache."

"Shut the fuck up," Spencer laughs. "Don't make me show you the pictures he sent of their act. It's pretty explicit."

"That's not even a threat," Brendon says. "I would love to see photographs of your friend and his boyfriend performing a homoerotic mime act, Spencer Wentz."

Spencer rolls his eyes, annoyed. "Ryan does that," he sighs. "Like, what are you, sitting in a room full of Spencers? Do you need to distinguish between more than one?"

Brendon wonders which surname Spencer had when Ryan was still here. He doesn't want to upset Spencer any further right now, though, so he says, "It's hard to shuck that kind of corn once you get into the habit of it."

"Yeah," Spencer looks at the picture of Ryan again and he still looks sad, but he smiles through it.

 

~*~

 

Brendon is pretty certain Gabe and Greta escaped from somewhere, for instance, from a mental institution or from another planet. Maybe they escaped together and made their home here, or maybe they escaped separately and found one another. Brendon thinks either scenario would be sort of sweet, until he remembers they're both insane.

Every single time he delivers milk to Greta and Gabe, they're outside chopping and stacking wood. Their pile is half as tall as their house. The size fire that would require that amount of wood is incomprehensible to Brendon.

"Milkman Brendon," Greta calls. She waves him over with her axe and Brendon tries not to be terrified. She's perfectly nice, he tells himself, except for the part where she's crazy and wielding an axe.

"Hi Greta," Brendon says.

"You're coming to the bonfire, aren't you?"

"Oh, is that why you're chopping all this wood?"

"Didn't you tell Milkman Brendon about the bonfire?" Greta yells very loudly and clearly over her shoulder. Gabe just cups his hand around his ear and shrugs like he didn't hear her. Greta tugs on Brendon's sleeve. "You just have to come."

"When is it?"

"The same time we have it every year." Brendon remembers Greta telling him before they'd only been living here for a few months, so he doesn't understand how they could've done it every year, unless it's a tradition they brought with them from wherever they escaped.

Gabe comes over then and Brendon notices he has a black eye.

"What happened to you?" Brendon asks politely.

Gabe winks at Greta with his blackened eye and says, "Ran into a door."

"You can bring anyone you like," Greta tells Brendon.

"I'll ask some people," Brendon says. Spencer has got to see this. Maybe Jon, too, if he can visit.

 

~*~

 

Spencer doesn't answer the door one day when Brendon knocks, so he lets himself in. He doesn't see how Spencer would mind. He's starving, so he goes to the kitchen to make something for himself.

Brendon has taken to leaving his own snacks at the house, because he's there all the time, and all Spencer has is basically snacks for infants, like fucking, Nilla Wafers and Cheerios. Brendon has Pop Tarts hidden in the cupboards and Bagel Bites in the freezer. He gets the Bagel Bites out and preheats the oven.

Spencer comes out of his room just as Brendon turns off the oven. He's smiling, and Brendon expects it to fall from his face when he sees it's not Pete, like the first time they met, but he keeps on smiling when he rubs at his eye and walks over to the kitchen counter.

"You left your door unlocked," Brendon says.

"Oh shit, did I?" Spencer says. He doesn't seem too concerned.

"Yeah, so anyone could've walked in and stolen my Bagel Bites. What would I have eaten then? Look at me, I'm wasted away to practically nothing."

"Thank God you were here, then." Spencer squeezes Brendon's shoulder and brushes past him to get to the fridge.

Brendon scrapes the Bagel Bites off the pan, which is not as stick-proof as he thought, and puts them on one plate. Spencer sits on the couch on one side of the coffee table and Brendon sits on the floor across from him, and they eat together.

 

~*~

 

They're sitting on the couch one afternoon when the power goes out.

Spencer never drinks in front of Brendon, and Brendon never asks to drink with Spencer. He doesn't know why Spencer doesn't drink in front of him, but Brendon doesn't ask to because he wants to be Spencer's friend, not his drinking buddy. When the TV goes black and everything goes silent but Spencer next to him, Brendon decides to ask this one time.

The air shuts off with the power, and the hot air from outside seeps in through the cracks in the house. Brendon is an incredibly sweaty person. Even when he's sitting there doing nothing, he sweats. His hair gets damp with it, and it gathers under his eyes and on his cheeks, and the armpits of his shirt get soaked, and his back. He used to have Jon take a stick of antiperspirant and rub it on his back before he'd ever go outside. Brendon's shirt is sticking to him inside the house now, so he unbuttons a couple buttons. He wishes he could just get naked, that's what he'd do were he at home, but that would probably be weird. He sees Spencer glance at his undone collar and his throat a few times.

"Spencer, would you rub deodorant on my back?"

Spencer looks at him as if he's crazy to suggest Spencer would do anything other than rub deodorant on Brendon's back. "Sure I would."

"You know what, your eyes," Spencer says later, after they have nearly four empty bottles of wine between them, "are so fucking big." Spencer reaches out with both index fingers like he's going to poke Brendon's big eyes to feel their fascinating bigness for himself. Spencer had more to do with the emptying the bottles than Brendon.

Brendon grabs Spencer's wrists and stops him before he's blinded. "Let's not do that," he whispers.

Spencer's hands go limp, but then change course and make for the sides of Brendon's head. Brendon lets go of him, and Spencer sticks his fingers in Brendon's hair, sweeps his thumbs over Brendon's sweaty cheekbones. He's still looking at Brendon's eyes, looking at them and not really into them, so Brendon can't read what exactly Spencer wants here. Brendon closes his eyes and Spencer immediately moves his thumbs to rub them gently over Brendon's eyelids. Brendon moves his eyeballs around so Spencer can feel them underneath the skin. It makes Spencer giggle, and Brendon can feel his breath on his face, making it feel steamier.

"Hey," Brendon whispers, eyes still kept shut by Spencer's soft thumbing. "It's bedtime."

Spencer huffs at that, like Brendon is his mom telling him to go to bed because it's a school night, but he lets go of Brendon's head. Brendon opens his eyes and he doesn't see spots or anything, because Spencer was very careful with them. He looks at Spencer looking at his eyes, and the light coming in from outside hits him so pretty. It kind of looks like Spencer doesn't have eyes of his own, just black holes where his eyes should be. The power must've come back at some point if there's a light on.

Brendon doesn't switch on any inside lights when he pulls Spencer up off the couch and pushes him to the bedroom and onto the bed. He leans over to pull the covers over Spencer, and he thinks, doesn't Spencer ever jerk off? The sheets smell so clean. Brendon's sheets at home smell like he jerks off on them constantly, as well they should, but Spencer's smell, not freshly laundered, just generally clean. Maybe he does it in the shower.

The light from outside is still hitting Spencer's face. Brendon doesn't even know where the fuck the light is coming from. Is there a streetlight on the road? It makes Brendon want to touch Spencer's face, touch his darkened eyes and his unkempt beard. He goes to the window, shuts the blinds, and whispers a good night before closing the door and going to sleep on the couch.

Brendon wakes up early the next morning, earlier than Spencer, but he supposes he always wakes up earlier than Spencer. He has to go home and shower and then deliver milk elsewhere. Before he leaves he goes to check on Spencer and open the blinds. The blue light of morning hits Spencer just as pretty as the mysterious streetlight, only now he has eyes.

"Spen-cer, wake up, it's time for schoo-ol," Brendon sing-songs. There isn't a living person Brendon knows who wouldn't be annoyed by that.

"Shut the fuck up, don't _do_ that," Spencer groans and pulls the covers all the way over his head. Then he asks, muffled, "I'll see you later?"

"Yeah," Brendon says. "You'll see me later."

 

~*~

 

"Me and you should do this," Brendon says.

"What?" Spencer says from the kitchen. He's putting stuff away. Brendon wondered where Spencer got his food from, because he's pretty sure Spencer never leaves the house, and he got his answer earlier when someone came to the door to deliver the groceries.

"This," Brendon says, pointing to the screen to clarify. They're marathoning _Flight of the Conchords_ for probably the third time. The episode with the French nonsense song is on now. Brendon knows it makes Spencer think of Ryan, and he doesn't know if it's Spencer's favorite or least favorite episode because of it. "Be a musical comedy duo."

"You're not even funny," Spencer says.

"Fuck you, I'm hilarious. Come on," Brendon whines, swatting at Spencer's arm when he comes over to sit on the couch.

"Do it yourself."

"I can't do that! All the greatest musical comedy acts were duos." Brendon pauses to think of them. "Sonny and Cher!"

"They were married."

Brendon wants to point out how easy a fix that'd be, all they'd have to do is get married, until he remembers Spencer is already married. He goes on quickly, "Donny and Marie."

"They were related."

"Simon and Garfunkel."

"They weren't funny on purpose!"

"The D, Spencer," Brendon points out with a finger gun. "What about the _D_?"

Spencer narrows his eyes and nods. He can't deny the greatest musical comedy duo of all time. "Okay. What're we doing?"

Brendon claps excitedly. "You can play a paper plate bean shaker, and I can wail on the guitar and sing songs about milk and boys with girl names."

"A paper plate bean shaker? That's so degrading."

"The bongos?"

"Maybe." Spencer smiles, kind of sadly. "In what world would you and me being in a comedic musical duo be practical or sane?"

Brendon can't even conceive of having a practical or sane life. He wonders why Spencer is so concerned about it, considering his life right now. "France," he decides on.

"Yeah, actually, I think Ryan used to have his milk delivered to him, if you know what I'm saying." Spencer smiles the same sad way he did before and looks at the television screen. "We were gonna start a band."

"Oh," Brendon says.

"Like, maybe not a band, but we were gonna do something."

Brendon never knows when thinking of Ryan will make Spencer happy or sad, so he tries, "Our band would be funnier."

Brendon is relieved and pleased when Spencer laughs and says, "Maybe."

 

~*~

 

Brendon runs into Pete coming out of the house one day. He's never actually seen him in person before. Pete's talking to someone on the phone and heading to his car, and all he says to Brendon is, "Hey man, nice jugs," and then, "No, not you," to whoever's on the phone. Brendon feels an inexplicable hot flash of guilt in his chest, like Pete just threw a bucket of hot guilt at him. He hasn't even _done_ anything, but he guesses sometimes thinking and doing are the same things.

Brendon wonders at how one person can be such a force in Spencer's life even when he's hardly ever there. Asshole can't even leave the car for Spencer to drive. Asshole can't even bring Spencer to France with him.

Brendon just puts Spencer's milk on the porch and leaves.

 

~*~

 

"Where the fuck were you yesterday?" Spencer comes out to the gate to meet Brendon at his truck. "I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere."

"I wasn't," Brendon says. He never thought Spencer would wonder where he was, especially since Pete had been there.

"I walked down the road to make sure you didn't like, roll your truck over or something, and you weren't there, and eventually I realized you weren't coming over just because you weren't coming over." Spencer crosses his arms. "You could've called."

"I'm sorry," Brendon says, truly meaning it. Then he smirks. "Spencer Wentz, you went outside?"

"Shut the fuck up, dickhead. I go outside all the time," Spencer says.

"Yeah," Brendon says. "To see me."

"I go outside other times," Spencer says. He looks around anxiously, like he doesn't want to be outside.

"You get your groceries delivered to you," Brendon points out.

"Whatever," Spencer says, stomping back to the house.

"That reminds me," Brendon says, following Spencer in. "You are cordially invited to Gabe and Greta's bonfire." Brendon's actually getting genuinely excited about the bonfire. The last time he was over there, Gabe and Greta were digging a huge circle pit in their yard and placing stones around it.

"They didn't invite me."

"You're with me, Spencer, you're my date." Brendon flushes and says, "And Jon is, too. Jon is coming. Bitches on both my arms." He hopes Jon is coming, anyway, or else he'll feel terrible. He can't go on a date with a married person all by himself.

Spencer looks down at his hands and smiles, his own cheeks pink. "Okay."

 

~*~

 

Jon does come to visit for the bonfire weekend. He walks in through Brendon's wide open doorway and yells, "Lucy, I'm home." His hair is shorter than it was when he moved out, and he's clean-shaven. Brendon runs over to him and gives him the most intentionally, uncomfortably intimate hug ever. He runs his hand over Jon's back and through his hair and over his ass and doesn't let go for about five minutes. Jon hugs him back the same way.

Jon goes to throw his bag on the bed and notices the cat sleeping there. He loves Brendon's part-time cat instantly. The cat is always a dick to Brendon, never lets him pet her or anything, and he doesn't expect it to be any different for Jon.

Brendon tries to warn him. "That cat's a crack cat, Jon, she's not going to -- son of a bitch." Jon cradles the cat in his arms like a babe and pokes her in the nose, cooing cutesy nonsense at her. The crack cat loves Jon back.

 

~*~

 

"Spencer, this is my good friend Jon Walker," Brendon says when Spencer opens the door. He told Spencer that he might bring Jon over. He likes it when his friends become friends. He doesn't know why it feels so important this time that his friends like each other, though.

"Hello, Jon Walker," Spencer says. Brendon notices he's trimmed his beard and is wearing regular pants instead of his usual sweat pants or sometimes short-shorts. He guesses Spencer thinks it's important for Brendon's friends to become friends for some reason, too.

"Hey, Spencer," Jon says back. Spencer steps back to let them in.

Brendon spends almost all his time at Spencer's house sitting next to Spencer watching TV. That thing is always on, even when they're not paying any mind to it. Brendon can't talk to people if he's not looking at them; it makes him feel like he's being rude, which he hates to be, so he always turns his body toward Spencer and looks away from the TV and right at Spencer whenever they're talking. Spencer used to just glance away from the screen periodically when they talked, but now he matches Brendon's body language and pays more attention to their conversations, glancing periodically at the screen.

The TV isn't even on when Jon and Brendon go inside. Brendon doesn't know why, but it stuns him that Spencer would turn off the TV because Brendon was coming over with company. He feels pleased in a way he's felt a thousand times about something Spencer's done, just never in front of anyone before. Jon notices and looks at him funny.

"Drink?" Spencer asks.

"No," Brendon says.

"Water?" Jon says.

Spencer sits on one angle of the couch, Brendon in the corner, Jon on the other angle. They just talk. Brendon tells Jon all about his and Spencer's future musical comedy duo, with frequent interruptions from Spencer protesting the glitter Brendon wants to put on his future paper plate bean shaker. Spencer tells Jon about Ryan's mime act, and then brings out the pictures to prove he's telling the truth about it. Jon tells them about how he went an audition to be in a Manwich --

"I knew it, Jon Walker, you're a porn star!" Brendon interrupts.

\-- commercial.

"Brendon, we've seen that one Manwich commercial a million times," Spencer says.

"The song is pretty sexual," Jon agrees with Brendon.

 

~*~

 

Later, at Brendon's house, Jon spoons up behind Brendon in his bed. They've slept together like this before. They used to sleep head-to-toe, but they both figure if they're going to have to share a bed, they might as well get the most out of it and snuggle and not get a foot to the face. If they wake up with boners in the morning, it just means they're both unavoidably sexy and there's nothing to be done for it.

"So," Jon says. "Spencer, huh?"

The way he says it makes Brendon flush, the same way he did that time he saw Pete, hot and guilty.

"I don't like your tone, Jon Walker," Brendon says.

"Spencer, huh?" Jon says again in a high voice.

"Your pitch is beautiful, Jon, it's your tone I don't like."

"He's nice."

"He's nice and married."

"Yeah, legally," Jon mutters. Brendon tries to squirm out of his arms, but Jon squeezes him tighter and sighs against the back of his neck, then kisses him there. Brendon resists the sweetness and kicks him in the shins. Jon knows Brendon's neck is one of his tickle spots, so he's probably only doing it to annoy him further and not to comfort him.

"You really like him?" Jon asks.

"As much as he'll let me." Brendon sighs and Jon kisses his neck again. He doesn't resist the sweetness this time and scoots back so Jon will hug him closer.

"Hey, did I tell you, I have an audition every day next week," Jon says. Brendon appreciates the change of subject.

"Jon, you do not. You can't even act."

"Fuck you, Brendon," Jon says. He sounds so hurt that Brendon turns around in his arms to apologize. Then he notices Jon is grinning.

Brendon glares at him. "I still don't believe you. You're probably just a waiter or, or an exotic dancer."

"Or both."

 

~*~

 

"I like the way you look, Spencer," Brendon says when he and Jon go to pick him up.

"Ditto," Spencer says.

Brendon's back and the back of his knees start sweating after about two minutes of being outdoors. He rolled his pants up past the knee and made Jon let him borrow a pair of flip-flops. Spencer put on a vest for the occasion and hardly glistens at all. Brendon sticks his arm out and Spencer links his through it. Jon does the same, and then Brendon does have bitches on both his arms. They walk like that for a few minutes until Brendon trips on someone's feet and he lets go of them to walk the rest of the way linked to nobody.

The fire isn't even going by the time they arrive at Gabe and Greta's. All the wood that was piled up on the side of their house is now piled in the center of the fire pit. Brendon's sure most of the town is there, but it's a small town, so the crowd isn't too big. He sees a few familiar faces and brings Jon and Spencer with him to say hello and gab for a bit.

"We're waiting until the sun goes down," Greta tells Brendon. "Like the fireworks people." Brendon hopes Gabe and Greta aren't planning to operate any fireworks displays.

"Goddamn, Greta, which son are you talking about?" Gabe says when he walks by. He's strutting toward the fire pit holding an unlit torch.

"There are a lot of sons here," Greta agrees.

Gabe cups his hand around his mouth and yells, "Girls, what's my weakness?"

"Men," Brendon calls back automatically. He hears some people, including Greta and Jon, do the same. He and Jon once found and purchased a ton of '90s cassettes and rewound and listened to the same songs over and over. They know their Salt N Pepa. Gabe pumps his fist in the air at their response and then uses a lighter to light the torch, then uses the torch to light the fire.

Gabe and Greta are good people. They're crazy, certainly, but the good kind and not the frightening kind, like Spencer, and they're very nice to put on this bonfire for everyone for no apparent reason.

"It is begun," Gabe says ominously. The fire builds up swiftly and grows huge. Sparks fly out of it, and smoke, but the air is still tonight, so nothing blows dangerously into anyone's eyes. Some people make oohing and ahhing sounds about it. It's pretty beautiful.

"Sticks are here, marshmallows are over here, graham crackers are there, chocolate is here," Greta says, pointing to different tables set up near the fire. "And God helps those who help themselves."

Spencer wandered off to talk with other guests and neighbors a little bit ago. He comes back over to Jon and Brendon as they're gathering around the tables to get their s'mores supplies.

"Have you guys met Gerard?" Spencer asks.

"Yeah, I deliver milk to him," Brendon says. "He's really nice. Did you notice his teeth?"

"What the fuck is with his teeth? They're like," Spencer says.

"I know! They're baby teeth!"

"Who are you guys talking about?" Jon asks.

"Gerard," Brendon says. He turns around and finds Gerard to point him out.

"Oh, hey, that looks like Gerard Way," Jon says. "He's like, one of the most famous child stars. I didn't know he lived here." Brendon starts to believe Jon really is trying to become an actress when he says stuff like that.

"Is that why his teeth are all," Spencer holds his finger and thumb up to his own mouth and demonstrates how tiny Gerard's teeth are.

"Yeah, man, they probably sent him somewhere to have them filed down, like fucking Shirley Temple," Jon says.

"Who's that woman he's with?" Spencer asks.

"That's his wife," Brendon says.

"Wow," Jon and Spencer both say.

They all get sticks and go to the fire to toast their marshmallows. Jon likes his barely toasted to a golden brown, while Brendon and Spencer prefer theirs blackened, so he leaves them alone when he goes back to the table to get more.

"S'more," Brendon corrects as Jon walks away. He looks over at Spencer, who glances away from the fire periodically to look at Brendon. Firelight hits Spencer as pretty as streetlights and sunrise do. "How's it goin'?"

"Pretty good," Spencer says. He's been talking to people, mostly when he's with Brendon and Jon, but he's gone off on his own, too. Brendon is glad, because he thinks it's important to know your neighbors. "Pete hasn't been home in six weeks."

Brendon doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't really care if Pete never comes home, because who the fuck is he, anyway, but he doesn't want Spencer to be upset. He pulls his marshmallow out of the fire and holds it up to Spencer's face. Spencer blows until the fire on it goes out and then squishes it between two graham crackers to pull it off Brendon's stick. He offers his own marshmallow to Brendon, and Brendon takes it.

 

~*~

 

"I'm seriously gonna hurl, you guys," Jon moans after he's eaten too many s'mores. Brendon didn't think such a thing possible, but he sees that it is.

"You go ahead and go home," Spencer says. "I'm gonna stay for a little while longer." He shakes Jon's hand and wishes him a safe, vomit-free journey back to the city.

"You sure?" Brendon says as Jon stumbles away, clutching his belly.

"Yeah," Spencer nods, "I'll be fine."

Brendon looks at him and wants to touch his face again, still. What Brendon wants to do and what Brendon does are usually the same thing, but for some reason with Spencer he always holds back. It never felt like Spencer wanted him to before. Tonight feels different.

"Spencer, come here, you got some marshmallow in your beard." He steps closer to Spencer before Spencer can go to him like he asked. He licks his thumb and rubs at a spot on Spencer's beard near the corner of his mouth. He tugs accidentally, because marshmallow is impossible to get out of a beard without using like, peanut butter or something, and Spencer winces. Brendon makes an apologetic noise and rubs more gently. "You should just get rid of this thing. It's nothing but a marshmallow catcher, I always tell you."

Spencer reaches up and takes Brendon's hand off his face. He doesn't let go when he says, "Good night," and leans over to kiss the corner of Brendon's eye, between his eyeball and his temple.

 

~*~

 

Brendon feels a thousand mosquito bites on his legs and arms when he gets home. He has some on his calves, his elbows, his knees. He sees Jon scratching a foot with the other foot, so he must have them on his feet. He can't remember if scratching them makes it worse, like chicken pox, or not, but he scratches at them anyway. He has a mosquito bite on his palm of all places. It's impossible for him to scratch his palm; it's too soft and sensitive, so it just feels tickly. He rubs at it with his fingers through the night and tries to focus on the itchiness of that instead of the itchiness of Spencer's beard against his face, or how he could use Spencer's beard to scratch his palm. He tries.

 

~*~

 

Jon leaves the next morning. He hands Brendon a folded note to give to Gerard Way, about acting and fame or something or other, hugs Brendon, and goes back to the city. Brendon doesn't feel as sad about it as the first time Jon moved away, because he goes over Spencer's later. It's a Sunday, and Brendon never goes over there on the weekends. He doesn't know if he's allowed. He's there virtually every day during the week, and he usually wants to give Spencer a break.

"What are you doing here?" Spencer asks when he opens the door. Brendon is set to apologize and leave when he continues, "It's your day off."

Brendon doesn't understand how Spencer can think he wouldn't want to be there on his day off when all he does is want to be there.

"I would love to spend my day off with you, Spencer," Brendon says.

Spencer opens the door wider and Brendon goes inside and turns around when Spencer puts a hand on his arm. Spencer puts his arm around Brendon, puts his hand in the middle of Brendon's back, and pulls him closer. He says, "I'd love to spend my day off with you, too."

"You don't have a job," Brendon looks down and laughs a little.

"So I have a lot of days off, then."

Spencer leans forward and presses his lips to Brendon's. It's really not even a kiss, just a pressing. It feels like Brendon has his face squished up against a window and he's making an obnoxious face.

"We shouldn't," Brendon mumbles against Spencer's lips, and then opens his mouth to kiss Spencer back. He feels like he needs to throw the shouldn't out there, because he knows they could and they would.

 

~*~

 

They almost fuck on the couch, until Spencer takes his tongue out of Brendon's mouth and chants, "Black leather furniture, black leather furniture," and Brendon is pretty sure neither of them care if they stain the couch, because they eat on or around it all the time, but it'd be great not to get all sweat-stuck to it. They go to Spencer's bedroom. Brendon tries to think of it as being just Spencer's bedroom and not Pete and Spencer's bedroom. Technically it is Pete and Spencer's bedroom, when Pete can bring himself home to sleep in it.

Spencer pushes Brendon onto the bed like it's just his, anyway, and they rub against each other. The air kicks on loudly in the bedroom with no TV, right when Brendon feels his back starting to sweat. The blinds are open and the sunlight hits Spencer's face so pretty. He can smell Spencer's suspiciously clean sheets all around him. He can touch Spencer's face, and his beard, so he does.

Brendon thinks back. He thinks his and Spencer's friendship has been one long date, the longest date ever, leading up to this. It really doesn't feel as wrong is it probably should.

He falls asleep with his back against Spencer's front, beard all against his neck. He wakes up with beard all in his face. He loves that beard of depression.

"Spencer, I have to go deliver milk," Brendon whispers into Spencer's ear. He puts his face back in front of Spencer's and Spencer opens his eyes, kisses Brendon's lips close-mouthed.

"Okay," he says.

 

~*~

 

It feels like a normal Monday to Brendon. He goes to Spencer's every Monday to deliver milk to him and to hang out. Brendon's never felt as twitchy and nervous about it before is all, probably because things never turned sexual before either.

Spencer goes out to his truck when Brendon pulls over in front of the house later. There's only one door, so Brendon moves over to the passenger seat so Spencer can sit in the driver's seat. He doesn't understand why there's a passenger seat if there's no passenger door. They sit there for a few minutes, staring down the road through the windshield. Spencer glances at him a few times.

"I'm packing, so the house is a mess," Spencer finally says.

"Where are you going?" Brendon tries not to sound panicked. He tries.

"I'm going to live with Ryan in France. I called him this morning." Brendon wonders if Spencer told Ryan about him.

Brendon stands up as much as he can in the truck. Spencer tucks his feet under the seat to pull his knees back, like he thinks Brendon is trying to leave. Instead Brendon throws his leg over Spencer's legs and tries to straddle his lap. He gets jammed between the steering wheel and Spencer, so his ass hits the horn and it honks loudly for a solid few seconds, startling them both. Brendon is thankful Spencer doesn't have neighbors. Spencer pulls him closer and holds him to his chest then, if only to stop the noise.

"I can't live like this anymore," Spencer says.

Brendon clutches at Spencer's shirt and presses his face into Spencer's shoulder. What about me? he wants to ask, even though he knows it's selfish. Brendon feels torn. He's always thought Spencer should go be with Ryan, but now, he doesn't know what he thinks. He asks instead, "What about Pete?"

"I'll leave a note." Brendon huffs a laugh against Spencer's neck and pulls back to look at him. "Maybe an address. We're really just married legally, anyways, you know?"

Brendon knows. He and Spencer are practically married more than Pete and Spencer are. He thinks of Gabe and Greta and their functioning alleged marriage, and of what Jon said, and of what he said to Jon. He'll love Spencer as much as Spencer will let him.

Brendon takes Spencer's beard in his hands and says, "Spencer." He hopes Spencer lets him.

Spencer glances at him quickly and then goes back to staring out the windshield. Brendon knows he's listening, so he goes on.

"Spencer, do you think they need milkmen in France?"

 

 

~*~THE END~*~

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote from The Simpsons. BONJOUR, RYAN!


End file.
